


Kill Marks

by BrookeSutter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angry Clarke, F/M, Fights, Grounder Culture, Sexual Content, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6090613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrookeSutter/pseuds/BrookeSutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lexa wants to celebrate peace but it may be short-lived with Skikru attends her unity event with their leader, Charles Pike, and his right hand--Bellamy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Burning House

Chapter 1: Burning House

If Finn could see the _peace_ his death led them to achieve, he would be content—maybe it would tame the demons the destruction of the Grounder village caused him. Clarke likes to believe the floppy hair boy resurfaces—remains constant—in her mind, but that’s just not true anymore. At least, his face does not paint her nightmares so frequently. Lately, the mere thought of him always leads to the image of the floppy haired boy with the flirtatious smile that once called her a nickname she hated.  There are definite times when the tears rain down her face because of the circumstances of his death, but it’s not weeping and it’s not always earth-shatteringly painful.

It’s hard not to think of Finn in the midst of actively trying to create peace on Earth.

Clarke is leaning against her balcony, watching grounders from twelve nations pour into Polis with gifts and a sense of community. She can’t help but take the absence of the thirteenth personally as she glances down on seemingly smiling faces. According to Lexa, the people bring food, pleasantries, and more to gatherings of this nature even though this is the first event marking the unity of all the nations. It’s more or less comparable to the Unity Day celebration she used to enjoy as a child—maybe that’s why it was hurting so much to be the only person from the stars in Polis at the moment. No one knew how familiar and how strange this happened to be to her.

Her mind is a circle of memories—pain and happiness, earth and sky.

“The point of this is to have _fun._ ” The sound of Lexa’s heavily disappointed sigh startles her away from her complex memories and refocuses her on the crowds of people entering a place she’s become used to over the last month and a half.

Clarke mutters her reply seemingly absentmindedly, “I am having _fun._ ” She stresses the word mockingly before tucking her lip under her teeth. In truth, the entire idea of having a festival mere weeks after threatening war makes her nervous. In her opinion, it’s a death-wish or, at least, dangerous. Lexa, though, seemed to think they were really at _peace_ and of course, Clarke could admit the setting was peaceful but she did not know if it was truly everlasting.

The entire process was fueled by Lexa’s ambition to change grounder culture and the hesitance of Indra and Clarke. The warrior woman was the only person next to Clarke actively showing her disagreement with the open-ended invitation into Polis with unknown amounts of people.  “You still believe something bad will come of this gathering?”

She doesn’t trust anyone walking through Polis at the moment. There’s no reason she should believe that they haven’t come to kill Lexa, and her for that matter. “Experience tells me to expect something bad.”

Lexa seems to think on her words for a few seconds before she partially changes the subject, “Your people did not respond to my invitation.” Clarke knows Lexa was expecting Kane or Abby to show their face for the sake of peace but it had yet to happen and Clarke wasn’t exactly holding her breath for Pike to allow the two to come to Polis.

The man still held control over Arkadia although his attempts to end the lives of the grounders had ceased lately. Lexa thinks this is a sign of good faith after she spared their lives following the attack on the 299 sleeping grounders. Speaking of nightmares, the image of the dead army has taken a hold of Clarke’s brain ever since she saw the after effects of the attack nearly five weeks ago. In a way, she believes it’s her fault. She left them. She left _him._

It’s her fault.

“You still believe they are my people?” _How can they be my people if they are surviving?_

Lexa’s tone turns sad, “Clarke…”

Clarke turns her back from the balcony, no longer watching the nation from the coast wander around the city.  She looks at the comfort of her room. It’s a purgatory, a dreaded witness to all of her inner musings as of late. Her regrets concerning the lives she’s taken, her sadness concerning her lost friends, her endless unanswered apologies…

She is wholly haunted by the past.

And wholly marked with ink that reflects a nickname she really hates: Wanheda.

Clarke would much rather be called _Princess_ by Murphy than be called “Wanheda” or “The Great Wanheda” one more time. But, just like Princess, she can’t stop the name from spreading to people. At least, she’s rightfully earned the terrible name this time.

It was four weeks ago that she decided to let the people take a sharpened blade to her skin, tearing and breaking the skin to mark her as a grounder.

_Kill marks._

The signature tribal tattoos went down her spine and covered both of her legs. It was certainly a process to be cut into by a stranger but it’s a torture she’s earned while she’s been on Earth. The end result made her look like a warrior but sometimes she still feels like a lost girl going through the motions of a new world.

The Kill Marks are just a reminder that those thoughts are an illusion.

There’s nothing innocent left about _her._

“I should get ready.” Clarke shakes her head, abandoning her thoughts as she walks into her room.  

Lexa nods, “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments Appreciated


	2. Weakness

There are moments where Clarke wonders if Polis is merely an illusion from expired Jobi nuts or a hard fall. It would not shock her to wake up in the drop ship, body sticking to the metal table people used to sit on—people that are now dead, people that did not deserve to die in this awful war. Of course she knows it’s foolish to long and wish for that daydream to come true—to restart, to begin once more, to go back and fix her mistakes. It would be entirely easier if they were still teenagers fighting for their lives, building a small community from the resources around them. Clarke would do it differently. But she can’t. That’s what she usually has to face once she snaps back to the reality of it all.  She just can’t.  

Clarke never thought she would miss the unpredictability of the dropship. In Polis, she does not have to worry about where her next meal will come from, or uncomfortable beds, or clothing, or dirt painting her skin, or any of the things she once worried about when she was a co-leader of the camp.

Her fingers delicately rest on the edge of the balcony, but this time she is standing on the top floor of the tower with the other ambassadors. Clarke hardly fits in with them, nor do they really like her for that matter. In this moment, they are chattering with one another in their native tongue about their excitement towards the festival. She does not hear anything out of sorts, a plot or any silencing of any type. That’s a good sign for once…but it still does not settle her nerves. It would be naive to think this event could go off without a hitch. Still, she’d also be stupid to not address the sadness bubbling within her—their people cherished them whereas Clarke was more of an outcast these days especially under the rule of Pike.

Pike was formerly one of her beloved instructors but what was he now? A monster in the truest definition? And if so, what does that make her?

_Wanheda._

Clarke feels like a hypocrite when she judges Pike for all of this wrongdoings in his short time as leader. She’s slaughtered far more innocents than him. On paper, she’s just a guilty as him. The only difference between the two is Clarke did what she had to do, or what she thought she had to do, for her people to survive. Pike is purely motivated by revenge and hatred for an entire population for the wrongdoings of one nation. It’s the only thing that keeps her from losing her mind completely—knowing there is a small difference between her and Pike and she’s not just harboring feelings for what she has lost.  

The difference—and she can count them on her skin—happens to be her regard for the lives she has taken. She recognizes that she took innocent lives during her fight for her people. _Maya_. Clarke murdered Maya to save her people and she was a friend, she trusted Clarke as well as her friends. Clarke will never forget Maya as long as she lives because of the scarred, black designs on her skin. She won’t forget the children, either…and she won’t forget the grounders she blew up in the first war. She won’t forget the people beaten and bruised because of her. And she won’t forget the 299 people murdered by the hands of Pike, Bellamy and Farm Station either.

_I bare it so they won’t have to…_

If she hadn’t of left Bellamy…

Clarke shakes her head, refusing to think about the man. It never does her any favors.

She once said there wasn’t enough room on her skin for the kill marks she would have to bare in order to represent the people she has killed, and she was absolutely right. Clarke would have gone farther with the marks if it hadn’t of almost killed her with the amount of pain she went through. It very well could be an over-exaggeration but Lexa made the artist stop for that reason. She hasn’t decided whether or not she’s going to continue with marking her skin or not.

The blonde is thrown off slightly when a figure moves to her side. It was very rare for an ambassador to speak to her, let alone stand near her. She was a pariah in everyone’s eyes, except Lexa, in this court. To her surprise, though, it wasn’t her closest friend but Indra who made the decision to stand next to her. Clarke wondered if she was listening in on conversations like her or not.

Most likely consider Indra’s job as a protector.

Her expression is stoic but when Clarke turns to finally face the woman, she sees a newfound gleam in her eyes Clarke can only compared to one thing; fear. It first appeared to her when Indra laid in the field of her dead soldiers and comrades. A fear that she was going to die, a fear that Lexa would die, too…a fear that her career would be over, a fear that Pike would murder the innocents. It was a fear for the future. Clarke imagined everyone’s eyes reflected the same emotion but she had never seen Indra show so much fear in her life. It wasn’t as strong as that day, but it was still noticeable.

What if this entire festival went to hell and Lexa ended up dying?

Where would that leave her loyal followers?

_Dead._

 “You’re nervous.” Clarke says with raised eyebrows before she turns back to the scene below her. There are two men with rugged beards and animal hides gripping each other’s arms amicably, speaking loudly as a greeting. When she returns her gaze to Indra, the warrior woman is also watching them. It seems that she is trying to figure out if they are trying to start a brawl or not. Clarke considers the situation safe but Indra lingers for a beat or two before she responds to Clarke’s statement.

“As are you.” Her lips curl at the corners as she crosses her arms behind her back, gripping her wrists.

Clarke decides to be honest with the woman, “I am.”

“This is a ridiculous idea.” Indra turns to her, eyes squinting. “And if anything happens to the Heda, know it is your doing that has brought her to this weak point.” The woman takes a step closer, “Blood must have blood, Wanheda. She is now viewed weak by her subjects for sparing your people.”

Clarke grits her teeth, “Lexa is not weak.”

Indra sighs, “You make her weak.”

Clarke is aware of Lexa’s attraction to her and how it might cause lapses in judgment from time to time but that does not mean Lexa is incapable of thinking for herself. Her intentions to bring peace to the nations is not one purely brought forward by Clarke. If she is being honest, it’s probably the assassination of her lover that sparked it. Costia. The girl who once held the heart of the commander…a girl Clarke still thinks holds the Heda’s heart.

And Clarke wants to tell Indra all of these things but she can’t help but agree in that moment to what Indra is saying, “I know.” The words come out sadly and Clarke has to look away from the woman to keep herself together. In the end, Clarke could very well get Lexa killed…

 _Another_ mark.

“Clarke—“ Indra starts but Clarke cuts her off with a wave of her hand.

“I know, okay?”

“—your people.”

Clarke’s eyes dart towards the gate.

“Increase protection on Lexa.” She says as she pushes herself off the balcony and heads towards the doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know if you want this story continued. This is one of the first pieces I've written in a while so I want to know if I still have it in me.
> 
> \- Brooke.


	3. Threats

Chapter 3:

_Thumpthumpthumpthump_

Clarke can only make out the sound of blood rushing through her ears as she pushes through the crowd of confused and angry grounders. Furs, leather and dirty skin brush against her clean body and wrinkle the black dress she was told to wear for the occasion but it’s not something she particularly notices. It’s the way these people—some would say _her_ people—are talking about Skikru.

 _“Why are they here?” “Murderers!”_ Their questions are all of the same variety, their hatred warranted after the lives Skikru has taken. Clarke understands briefly due to the fact Skikru, herself especially, has killed far more grounders in comparison to how many of their own people are dead. Almost excessively, they have wiped out armies and colonies.

With one final shove, Clarke is standing in front of a small army of s _trangers._ They are not strangers in the way of her not knowing them, but strangers by the sense of she does not know who these people are anymore. Pike smirks widely, white teeth glistening evily down at her. “Ah, Clarke…I expected you to be here. Where is Lexa?”

His use of her real name strikes Clarke oddly—Lexa is not his friend, not his comrade, not anything to her so why does he say her name as if he hasn’t tried to murder all of her people? It’s the voice of a snake, of a vile person she cannot say she’s ever met. Certainly, he is the farthest away from being the teacher she once looked forward to studying under.

Clarke straightens her body, not looking at the faces behind him. “The Commander is with the ambassadors. She cannot be seen.” _You will stay away from her._

“I’m sure she can make time—“

“The Commander is very busy at the moment but I will tell her you wish to speak.”

Pike chuckles, looking down at his feet then back at her as if she is a fool. “One can never say you weren’t loyal to what you believe in. Just like your father.”

Clarke’s eyes widen.

Her father.

“Excuse me?”

Pike raises his hands, “I mean no offense to your father, Clarke. He was a great man. But he never knew when to stand down and let the council take care of the problem.” She wants to claw the smile off of his face, “Your Chancellor is here now, and you no longer have to play your role as faithful servant. You can stand down now and welcome your people.”

It’s an order.

She hears the click of a weapon, her eyes finally finding the faces behind him. She recognizes them. She knows these boys from school, from around the Ark but they are not any of her “friends”.  He brought weapons into Polis for a second time, breaking regulation once more. It only takes her a second to make her choice seeing as it was already made after the massacre of the 299 grounders. Clarke would not follow Pike. She will not follow him. “You can’t bring weapons into Polis.”

“I will not let my people be unprotected against the likes of these grounders.” Pike snarls, looking down at her.

“You brought trained guards, I’m sure they can do the job.” Clarke takes a step closer. “There are no weapons in Polis. Surrender them, or you will not take another step.” Surprisingly, the grounders standing behind her support what she has to say with crossed arms and head nods. Of course, they would much rather want Skikru to leave but that seems to be an impossibility.

“The rest of my group will be joining us shortly.” Pike counters, “Women, children…should they be unprotected?”

“They are under the Commander’s protection, _Chancellor_. This is a festival of peace. There is no danger.” She wonders if Pike can see that she is lying. The threat of danger significantly increased when they decided to walk through Polis.

Pike stares at her for a long moment, sizing her up in a way before he removes the weapon from his arm and tosses it on the ground. She wants to tell him it is safe to leave his guns because the grounders will not touch them, but she doesn’t want to confirm anything his guards might have told him. He motions for his guards to do the same and they reluctantly follow. “Your mother will be joining us.” Pike informs her, “Maybe she can talk some sense into you.”

_Doubtful._

**…**

Clarke keeps an eye on Pike and his followers from atop of the tower even when the sky turns pink and orange, even when hints of stars start to light her vision instead. The only thing she is certain of is that she will not surrender to his antics, and she will not let him harm any of these people. She hears the shuffling of boots behind her and speaks without checking to see who it is, “He wants a meeting with Lexa.”

Indra clears her throat with the hint of a grounder curse beneath her breath. “We cannot let that happen.” The warrior shifts, “We also can’t let you bypass your duties as ambassador…that includes dinner.”

“Fine.”

Indra grabs her arm when she tries to turn around and rush off, “You’ve missed it already.” Clarke jerks herself away from the woman and returns back to her post on the balcony. Her body vibrates with irritation and resentment as she once more finds Pike whispering to his guards. Indra moves closer to the balcony and finds what she is looking for. “You can’t fight for peace and death at the same time.”

Clarke peeks at the woman through her hair, “Who said anything about death?”

“Oh, I have seen Wanheda in action long enough to know when she is thinking...” Indra nods her head towards Pike, “You want to kill him?”

“No.” It’s a lie.

“You want to kill him.” This time it is not a question, rather a statement of absolute truth. “But he is not the only one guilty this time…it is not simply one man—it’s an entire group of arrogant, ignorant followers.” She continues on, her voice like a tempted satin in Clarke’s ear. “You would have to kill them all before you achieved your definition of peace.”

Clarke grips the balcony tightly, the stone digging into her palms. “I don’t want to kill him.”

“No, you don’t want to kill _them…_ more specifically, _Blake._ ”

She finally looks at Indra with a fire in her eyes, “He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Neither did my army.”

Clarke’s body becomes straighter as she stands tall against the woman. “You nor your people will touch him, understand?”

Indra narrows her eyes, “Oh, I understand completely Wanheda.” It only takes Clarke a few seconds to find Pike once more. This time he has started to walk towards a crowd of grounders. Clarke cannot make out any figures or faces near the edge of camp. It worries her until Indra speaks up, “Pike has sent for more of your people?”

“Just a second group. I assume Kane is with my mother.”

Indra for once seems pleased. “Then we will walk together to welcome them to this festival.”


End file.
